


Fifty Shades Of Peter And Wade

by tobo



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Deadpool Thought Boxes, Deadpool being Deadpool, Good Friend Ned Leeds, I Had To Update The Rating (You Are Warned), I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I will add tags as I go, M/M, Ned Leeds is a Good Bro, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker is a Mess, Peter Parker needs to sleep, Rated for Deadpool's Language, mary jane
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2020-10-05 02:51:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 15,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20481635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tobo/pseuds/tobo
Summary: One day a reporter gets sick, so Jameson makes Peter go do an interview, and Peter makes a fool of himself because he his exhausted, but Wade is touch starved and loves Peter's blushing. After they keep running into each other (both as Peter and Deadpool and Spiderman and Deadpool, so how long can Peter keep his identity a secret and how long until Wade, a highly trained mercenary?), Wade starts to wonder how he can get this boy in his bed... with a blindfold around his eyes, of course, since he wouldn't want to scar his baby boy when Peter sees his skin.*****“Peter, I'm fifty shades of fucked up,” Deadpool said, looking down at the blood on his boots. He had blood on his hands and horrifyingly scarred skin. Why did he ever let this boy worm his way into his heart? His baby boy would leave him eventually, wouldn't it be better if Wade just left first? It would only break his heart more if he dragged this relationship out.“Is that a reference?”“It fits this fic.”“What?”*****A fanfiction that combines the Fifty Shades Of Grey Trilogy with our favorite ship, Peter and Wade.





	1. The One Where Jameson Sends Peter To Do An Interview

**Author's Note:**

> I decided to post my first fanfiction on a whim one night, so... I'll update as often as possible, but my writing schedule is so horrible it barely exists so I make no promises of a consistent uploading schedule.
> 
> Also, this is about to get kinky (I've already written some of those chapters.) so leave if you aren't into that.

As he left the elevator on the upper floor of the Daily Bugle building, Peter wiggled his headphones out of his ears. A bombard of typing, printing, and yelling replaced the sound of his soft music. The upper floor of the office of the Daily Bugle was a chaotic mess of reporters arguing over each other, writers typing vigorously at their computers, and drafts of the next issue of the newspaper sitting on each desk and hanging on every whiteboard.  
  
Since he was bitten by a radioactive spider and gained superhuman abilities, his senses had been turned up to eleven, so the onslaught of noise attacked his sensitive ears. He quickly ducked his head and started weaving his way to J Jonas Jameson’s office in the back corner of the floor.  
  
Betty Brent, Jameson’s assistant, looked up from her messy desk once he finally made it to the back of the office. “Hey, Pete,” she said as she brushed her long, dark brown bangs out of her eyes. She wore her usual black blouse and gold chain necklace. She looked him up and down and wrinkled her nose at his muddy converses, old jacket, and nerdy shirt. As a poor college student at Empire State University, he tried not to care about what others thought of his clothes. He could not afford to waste money on new shoes when he could barely pay his share of the rent, buy hand-me-down textbooks for school, and buy the ingredients for his web-shooters when he ran low. But a blush still heated his checks.  
  
“I got the pictures he wanted,” Peter said, trying to will the blush away. Jameson gave him a job as a photographer for the Daily Bugle when he graduated from high school three years ago after he proved he could get good pictures of the superheroes and villains of New York. He took the job eagerly, excited to help his aunt out and to pay for his classes at Empire State University.  
  
She nodded at the folder he held up in front of him, “Head on in there then, but know that he’s in a mood today. One of the new reporters is going to miss his interview.”  
  
“When is he not in a mood though?” Peter asked as he turned towards the glass door with ‘JAMESON’ written on it in big, gold letters. Betty just snorted, then turned back to the piles of files she seemed to be organizing.  
  
Peter cautiously made his way into Jameson’s office. He was met with the mustached Jameson yelling on the phone while dangling a cigar from his fingers. “No, you listen to me!” Jameson said. “I don’t care if you have the flu. If you miss this interview, you’re done!”  
  
As the sniffling reporter apologized on the phone, Jameson looked up and noticed Peter standing awkwardly in the doorway. “What do you want?” he practically shouted as he hung up the phone.  
  
“These are the pictures you wanted, Mr. Jameson,” Peter said. He held the folder out to Jameson as if it was a shield that would protect him from his demanding boss. Despite having worked for Jameson for years, Peter still felt small when in front of him, though he mainly cowered when he was faced with all of Jameson’s attention.  
  
Jameson snatched the folder out of Peter’s hands and started aggressively flipping through the pictures of the Beetle, one of the numerous villains of New York, being arrested.  
  
The night before, Peter had been about to end his patrol and head home to get some sleep when the Beetle had flown past in his metallic green and purple suit. The chase that ensued lasted hours, but he finally managed to web the Beetle up for the police, but it had left him so exhausted he ended up sleeping through his alarm. In fact, he barely made it to his classes the next morning, and he almost left the folder of pictures for Jameson at his apartment that he shared with Ned and MJ, two of his closest friends from high school.  
  
As Jameson kept flicking through the photos, Peter assumed Jameson was not going to say anything else to him. He turned towards the door, eager to go meet up with Ned for lunch at their usual sandwich shop.  
  
“Wait!” Jameson’s yell startled Peter’s exhausted self. “Parker, you could do the interview tonight for Walters.”  
  
“Actually,” Peter stammered out, thinking about patrolling early and maybe getting a good night of sleep for the first night in a week, “I have something-”  
  
“Nonsense,” he shouted. “You’ll do the interview. Go get the questions off of his desk and do the interview.”  
  
“But-”  
  
“Now, go ask Betty for the address and hand Snow this picture for page four.” Jameson waved one of the pictures of the Beetle at Parker. Slowly, Peter took the picture from him. Jameson then grabbed one of the drafts on his desk and a bright red marker. Accepting that as his sign to leave and worried that if he stayed any longer he would have probably been sent to do more than just one interview, Peter quickly scrambled out of Jameson’s office.  
  
“Betty,” Peter said, watching her grab a new stack of files from the floor, “do you have the address for Walters interview tonight?”  
  
Betty looked up at Peter’s tired form and laughed, “you have the worst luck.”  
  
“Yeah,” Peter said as he took the sticky note with the address from her, “I call it my Parker luck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the way, if you have any ideas or want to see something happen in this fic, comment them below and I'll try to make them happen.


	2. The One Where Peter Meets Up With Ned And MJ

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought this chapter would be mostly foreshadowing for the interview, but it just turned into Ned being great and MJ worrying over Peter. (Ned and MJ are the best and Peter knows it.)

At around six in the evening, Peter stumbled into a busy sandwich shop and immediately spotted his best friend Ned waving at him from one of the booths against the windows. In the booth was Ned, wearing one of his hoodies over a white shirt, and MJ, whose curly brown hair was currently covering one eye as she looked out the windows at the busy street. On the table in front of them were three sandwiches and three milkshakes. There was a chocolate milkshake for Ned and two vanilla milkshakes, one for Peter and one for MJ.  
  
“Hey, Peter,” Ned said as Peter slid into the booth, across from him and MJ, “I already ordered you your usual sandwich.”  
  
“Thanks, man.”  
  
“No problem, and, hey, I saw you caught the Beetle last night.”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
During his sophomore year of high school, both Ned and MJ had found out that Peter was the crime-fighting, web-slinging, wall-crawling superhero known as Spider-Man. At first, Peter kept them out of his superhero life, but Peter eventually accepted help from Ned and MJ. He still kept them far away from any danger he got himself into because he wanted to keep them safe. But sometimes he enjoyed chatting with Ned as they made more of the solution for his web-shooters or discussing strategy with MJ on how to handle a new foe. Ned and MJ were his best friends, and they often made sure he was prepared (and fed) more than he did.  
  
“What was it like battling the Beetle again? Did it take a while? Did you guys fight?” Ned asked, while MJ just rolled her eyes. Despite knowing Peter was Spider-Man for years now, Ned sometimes still seems amazed by everything Peter did in the suit. Sometimes Ned’s questions drove Peter crazy, but Peter knew the questions came from a place of caring about Peter and what he did, not just amazement over the fact that he was Spider-Man.  
  
Peter quickly glanced around the cafe to check if anyone was listening in on their conversation out of habit, but it was New York and no one was looking their way or cared about what they were talking about. “No, I just chased him around the city for hours until I managed to web him up for the police.”  
  
“Cool,” Ned said as he smiled. Peter just nodded as he took a huge bite out of his sandwich.   
  
“No, it’s not cool,” MJ said as she put her milkshake down. “What time did you end up going to bed, Peter?” MJ liked for people to believe she was some emotionless, badass, but once Peter got to know her, he learned she cared so much about those she loved. She may show that love in what some would call a judgemental way, but she genuinely cared. Also, sometimes Peter needed her to tell him how much of an idiot he was before he got his act together.  
  
Peter swallowed nervously and looked up to find MJ’s brown eyes pinning him down, “Uh, I don’t know, probably sometime around two.”  
  
“Peter,” MJ said with a shake of her head, “when are you going to learn to get a good night of sleep?”  
  
“Whenever people stop committing crimes and aliens stop invading New York, so probably never,” Peter said. His usual humor seemed to be returning a bit as he ate.  
  
“Peter, you may have superpowers, but you still need to sleep,” MJ said as she stood up and slid her backpack onto her shoulder.  
  
“I know, MJ, but did you want me to just ignore the Beetle and go to bed?”  
  
MJ just sighed. “I have to get to my evening class, but, Peter,” she looked down at him, leaning over the table with her book bag over her shoulder, “go to sleep tonight.” (Her evening class was an art class she took at some art school that was not their college, but she didn’t like to talk about it or show her art to others. In fact, Ned had tried to get her to open up and show them some of what she drew, but after being snapped at for a week, Ned had stopped asking. Peter just knew MJ would show them when she was ready.)  
  
“I’ll try,” Peter eventually said softly. MJ sighed before putting ten dollars on the table for her meal.  
  
“Bye,” Ned called as she started walking away. She just waved at the two of them over her shoulder as she walked.  
  
“So,” Peter said, turning away from watching MJ leave the cafe and back towards Ned, “how have your classes been?”  
  
Ned’s smile took over his whole face as he dove into talking about his classes and his new lego set he just started working on. He wanted Peter to help him finish it. An hour passed quickly as Peter smiled and laughed with Ned, but too soon Peter glanced at his phone and knew he’d have to get going to make it to the bar Peter was supposed to do the interview at.  
  
“I better get going, Ned,” Peter said as he took the last sip of his milkshake.  
  
“Really?” Ned glanced at the clock on his phone, “you don’t usually have anything on Thursdays.”  
  
“I know,” Peter said as he pulled out his own ten dollars and handed it to Ned, who was holding the check, “but Jameson is forcing me to go do this interview at a bar nearby.”  
  
“Oh,” Ned said as he paid the rest of the bill and stood up, “that sucks.”  
  
“Yeah, it does.”  
  
“What’s the interview for?” Ned asked as they started to make their way out of the cafe.  
  
“I don’t know, I just have the questions and the name of the bar.”  
  
“What bar?”  
  
“Sister Margaret’s School For Wayward Girls,” Peter said as he read the name from the note on his phone.  
  
“That’s a really weird name for a bar,” Ned said as he adjusted the strap of his backpack as they waited for the light to turn green to cross the street.

“Yeah, it’s weird and it sucks. I wish I could just go on a quick patrol, then head home to help you finish building that lego set.”

“Maybe, after the interview, you’ll have time.”

“I hope so.”

“Well, good luck,” Ned said as the light turned green and the two of them headed off in different directions. Ned started heading towards their apartment, and Peter started making his way to the oddly named bar. The bar was in East Bronx, so he would have to take the subway. It would take an hour, but he knew that if he put his suit on to swing to the bar, he would get distracted and never get the interview done.  
  
“Thanks,” Peter said, “you know I’ll need it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, if you have any ideas or want to see something happen in this fic, comment them below and I'll try to make them happen.


	3. The One Where Peter Meets Deadpool

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did not die! And I did not abandon this fic!
> 
> I could not figure out how to get this story to where Peter and Wade are actually in a relationship, so I just kept re-writing this chapter. I still do not like how the chapter turned out, but I need to move on and try to take the fic where I want it to go.
> 
> Next chapter, Peter interview Wade and Dopinder about the dead bodies found behind the bar. (Yes, I plan for there to be actual plot in this smutty fanfic.”
> 
> *****
> 
> !WARNING FOR CUSSING AND USE OF THE WORD "TWINK" IN A NEGATIVE WAY!

Peter walked down the street towards the bar and glanced around nervously. At first, the street seemed like any other possibly shady street in New York. It had tall imposing brick buildings covered in neon graffiti, cracked sidewalks, dark alleys that hid so much more than just overflowing trash cans, and the distinct scratch of rats running around echoing out of the previously mentioned alleys. Then he noticed the flickering street lights and a woman in a grey trench coat leaning on a building smoking. Both of these were so cliche that he would have just ignored them until he noticed that all of the lights on the street seemed to be out except the two flickering ones, which meant they had probably been knocked out to hide what happened on the street.  
  
The further he made his way down the street, and the closer he got to the bar, the more he felt like he was entering a horror movie and he was the protagonist about to be brutally murdered. Yeah, he had super strength, so it was unlikely he was about to actually be killed, but he couldn’t help the shiver that traveled up his spine and the way he fearfully glanced around.  
  
When he passed one of the alleys coated in shadows, he glanced down it and saw two men exchange what could only be a bag of cash for what looked like a glowing blue gun. When they noticed him, one of them sneered an ugly glare and the other looked down at the glowing weapon like he was thinking about possibly testing it. Peter started walking just a bit quicker after that.  
  
Finally, he made it to what had to be the bar. He took out the note Betty wrote the address on and made sure he was in the right place: “Sister Margaret’s School For Wayward Girls,” he read, and the sign beside the doorway confirmed he was in the right place. Unfortunately, the address probably led him to the shadiest and deadliest part of Brooklyn.  
  
He gathered a bit of courage and made his way up the steps of the bar as the sun started setting. On the steps were two women arguing over what the most painful death would be. They both paused to watch him walk past. Once Peter grabbed the handle of the door, he looked back at them and watched as one of the ladies turned back towards the other and said, “we’ll have to ask Deadpool when he gets here. He’ll probably know.” That seemed to end the conversation, which left Peter with no distraction, so he took a deep breath and entered the bar.  
  
The oddly named bar looked like any normal bar. It had dull lighting and dark wood floors. There were booths along one wall, a few pool tables in the middle, and the bar along the other wall. The bar itself seemed ordinary enough too. But then two things stuck out and practically screamed at Peter that this wasn’t just some ordinary bar. One: the blackboard above the bar had the words “Dead Pool” along the top then listed names of what Peter assumed were regulars at the bar and an amount of money. It seemed to be a way to bet on who would die next among the regulars. Peter hoped it was just some kind of joke and not an actual way to bet on who was about to die. Two: the place was filled with people who seemed to not even bother to conceal their weapons. Peter stuck out like a sore thumb with his skinny jeans and old backpack among the sea of thick leather jackets, gun straps, knife holders, and complex tattoos. He did not want to stereotype people as possible criminals, but everyone in this crowd could be on their way to audition for a role as the leader of a biker gang or as the crazy villain in a cheap movie.  
  
At first, no one seemed to notice him, but some people seemed to be sizing him up as he made his way to the bar.  
  
Peter tugged on the zipper of his jacket whenever the bartender finally noticed him. The bartender had curly black hair and light brown skin. He wore a striped button-down shirt and looked at Peter eagerly from across the bar as he cleaned some glasses. He looked as out of place in the bar with his eager smile as Peter did with his nerdy shirt.

“Welcome to the Sister Margaret’s School For Wayward Girls, how may I help you?” the bartender said with a thick Indian accent.

“Uh, I’m here to interview Mr. Weasel for the Daily Bugle,” Peter said, “are you Mr. Weasel?”

“Nope, I’m Dopinder. Mr. Weasel is in the back and is entrusting me with his precious bar for the first time. It’s such an upgrade from mop duty.”

“Oh,” Peter said with a forced smile, “can I go interview him now or should I wait?” If he said wait, Peter was going to flee and hide in the bathroom because he’s pretty sure some of the men around him have killed before and would do it again.

“You can head on back,” Dopinder smiled, “I’ll take you. Come on.”

Dopinder came out from behind the bar and led Peter through the stares of those around them to a back staircase. Dopinder whistled cheerfully and the old, wooden staircase creaked as they made their way up to the second floor.

At the top of the stairs, Peter peaked over Dopinder’s shoulder to find a messy apartment and a thin man with round, black glasses, greasy hair, and a red, flannel jacket hunched over his computer on the old green couch in the center of the room. Around the apartment, Peter could see a messy kitchen area filled with to-go containers and empty beer bottles, an overflowing bookcase, and what appeared to be a trunk of weapons on the floor in the back corner of the room.

“Mr. Weasel,” Dopinder said as he stuck his head through the doorway, “someone’s here from the Daily Bugle to interview you.”

“Send them away!” The rough voice came from the man on the couch.

“But a good review could help this bar,” Dopinder said, smiling over his shoulder at Peter.

“We don’t need a good review!”

“Actually, I’m not here to review the bar,” Peter said, stepping around Dopinder to squeeze into the room, “I’m here to do an interview about the bodies found in the alley behind this bar last week.” On his way to the bar, Peter had read the questions Betty had given him. As it turned out, he had been sent to interview the owner of the bar to get some quotes for an article on the brutal death of two men behind the bar last week.

“Oh,” Dopinder said, smiling when Peter turned back towards him, “I could do the interview. I know all about the bodies! Mr. Pool won’t stop talking about them.”

“No!” Mr. Weasel got up from the couch to walk over to the two of them in the doorway. “No interview! Dopinder get back to the bar or it’s back to taxi driving for you. And you-” Weasel turned back towards Peter after shoving Dopinder out of the doorway- “get out of my bar.”

As Peter watched Dopinder head back down the stairs, he turned to a frustrated Weasel, “Maybe I could interview this Mr. Pool then.”

“No! There’s no fucking way I’m letting Deadpool do any interview!” Weasel yelled. He frustratedly waved his arms as he spoke.

“The story would definitely help the bar,” Peter said, knowing he had to get the interview otherwise Jameson would probably fire him and he needed the money to help his aunt, to pay for college, and definitely if he wanted to keep spending his nights being Spider-Man.

“This bar doesn’t need any help from any review. Now, get out so I can get back to work.” Weasel turned Peter around and shoved him towards the stairs.

Sighing, Peter shoved the notebook with the questions into his pocket and prepared himself to wait until Dopinder got off of work to hopefully interview him.

Though just as Peter stepped towards the doorway, his spidey-sense tingled and he barely glanced up in time before a large body slammed into him. He hadn’t heard the stomp of the man up the stairs over the distant noise of the bar. Peter fell backward into the apartment, barely missing hitting Mr. Weasel. Peter ended up sprawled on the ground as a man clad in a red and black leather suit, who had barged into the room, stood before him.

After a moment, in which Peter could do nothing but stare up at the man, the man practically purred, “I came here to talk to Weasel’s ugly face, but if I had known a cutie like you would end up on the ground spread before me like a feast, I would have worn my nice suit.” He paused and turned his head towards the side like he was listening to someone. “Right,” he said after a moment, “I would have at least worn a clean suit.

Blushing, Peter scrambled to his knees and was about to stand up when the fingers covered in smooth leather tilted his chin up. Immediately, Peter’s eyes meet the white eyeholes of the man in a suit before him. “What’s a cute thing like you here for anyway?”

Peter stared up at the man from all fours and took him in as he struggled to answer around the lump in his throat. The man towering over him had on a red and black leather suit, not unlike his own Spider-Man suit, though he was more muscular than Peter and the suit hugged his bulk nicely. (Just thinking that made Peter’s blush darken.) But Peter’s suit was made of stretchy spandex, while this man’s suit was a tough leather. Also, Peter’s suit did not have black belts that crisscrossed across the man’s chest. Peter spotted two polished black guns resting on the man’s belts and the hilts of two swords over the man’s broad shoulders.

“He’s not here to do anything, Pool,” Weasel said from behind Peter, “He’s just leaving.”

“Aww, but he’s so cute with that blush,” the man said as he looked towards Weasel.

“Pool?” Peter asked as his brain finally caught up to what had happened and got past the fact that this man thought he was cute (and that he was on his hands and knees before the man).

Quickly, the man looked back down at Peter. “Yes, darling?”

Peter felt his blush darkening at the nickname. “The Mr. Pool Dopinder said had been talking about the dead bodies?”

“Probably,” the man said as he easily helped Peter to his feet finally. “I really need to stop telling Dopinder every gruesome detail of my awful but awesome life.”

“I came to interview Weasel about the dead bodies found in the alley behind this bar for a newspaper.”

“Oh, you’re too cute to be a reporter. You should be the weather guy, then I might actually turn the news on and listen to the weather.” After a moment, in which Mr. Pool tilted his head to the side like he was listening to something, he said, “Why do they even report the weather anyway? It’s always a little too hot and a little too humid. Plus, I wouldn’t actually be listening to you discuss the cold front or something, I’d be imagining what else you could do with those plush lips of yours.”

“He’s not a weatherman, Deadpool,” Weasel said annoyed. “He’s a reporter and he needs to get out of my fucking bar!”

Peter sighed, he needed to leave before Weasel just shoved him down the stairs. But on his way to the door, he glanced back at Mr. Pool and an idea came to mind.

Looking down and quickly glancing between Mr. Pool’s mask and the old wooden floor, Peter asked, “Mr. Pool, could you walk with me out of here?” He let a blush come to his cheeks and pushed his glasses up like it was a nervous habit. With all the comments Mr. Pool had made so far, Peter knew he might actually get him to walk with him out of the bar, and maybe even get him to do the interview for Jameson. He just needed to turn his ‘nerd cuteness’ as MJ called it up to eleven. “There were a lot of scary men giving me creepy looks on my way up, and I’d just feel safer if someone was there to protect me.”

With his mask on, there was no way for Peter to tell whether or not his little show had worked on Mr. Pool.

But after a moment of Mr. Pool just staring at Peter, Weasel blurted out a laugh, “Creepy men giving you scary looks! Of course, a twink like you would get looks at a place like this. Especially since-”

“Ignore Weasel, darling,” Mr. Pool interrupted, “He’s just jealous.” His voice had deepened and was a bit rough around the edges. “Let’s get you out of this awful place.”

Smiling softly, Peter turned and let the strange man lead him down the stairs. Now, he just needed to get him to do the interview or risk one of Jameson’s infamous rages.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, if you have any ideas or want to see something happen in this fic, comment them below and I'll try to make them happen.


	4. The One With The Interview

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So two things: I started writing this chapter the moment I posted the last chapter, but I kept struggling with it so I just started writing a different later chapter... then I wrote the chapter after that... then the chapter after that before I realized that I never actually finished this chapter. Some day soon I'll get to update three chapters in a row, but for now, here's this awful chapter that is just the side plot and Deadpool and Peter bonding slightly.
> 
> (It's actually awful, but I'm just going to move on and write some more fluff scenes.)
> 
> ***
> 
> !WARNING FOR TALKING ABOUT CORPSES AND DEATH IN DETAIL!

At the bottom of the stairs, many heads turned towards them, and Peter felt himself shrink a bit. Yes, he was Spider-Man, a superhero who could probably pick any of the men up with his fingertips, but he was just Peter without his mask on. He started fidgeting with the zipper of his jacket as Mr. Pool led him towards the bar. 

“Dopinder!” Mr. Pool said as he sank onto one of the bar chairs. “I hear you’ve been telling people about how I’ve been investigating the bodies you found behind the bar.”

“Yeah,” Dopinder said with a bright smile as he slid a beer towards Mr. Pool, “but that’s only because a paper wants to write a story about the murders.”

As Mr. Pool popped his beer open, he glanced back at Peter and took in his fidgeting self. “Come here, baby boy. It looks like you need to take a breather,” Mr. Pool said as he patted the barstool next to him.

Peter slid onto the seat and glanced nervously at the big man beside him, who just looked Peter up and down and then went back to looking bored at his drink.

“Dopinder,” Mr. Pool said as he watched Peter squirm in his seat. “Get the kid a soda.”

“Of course, Mr. Pool,” Dopinder said before he left to grab a soda from the other side of the bar.

“Kid,” Mr. Pool as he rested his large hand on the small of Peter’s back, “do you want to interview me then go home? Or just head home? You can just go home. I don’t want to pressure you into staying at this disgusting bar.”

Turning back toward Mr. Pool, Peter nodded after a moment and took out the notebook with the questions on it. “Thanks,” Peter said softly. He fumbled through the pages and was immensely grateful when Mr. Pool slid a can of rootbeer towards him with the hand not currently resting on his back.

“Thanks,” Peter said again as he looked at Mr. Pool briefly before his eyes flickered around the bar. At the pool table, a man was watching him and licking his lips. Quickly, Peter looked back down at the notebook hoping not to draw attention to himself.

Taking a long sip, Peter tried to get his nerves under control. He was just in what could probably be the shadiest bar in the city surrounded by men who either wanted to fuck him or kill him, or both, but there was also this nice man that was going to let him do the interview. Admittedly, a man in a red suit which completely covered his body and concealed his identity, but who was he to judge when every night he literally did the same thing.

“Question one: who discovered the two bodies in the alley behind the bar yesterday?” Peter said as he read from the notebook after he started an audio recording on his phone. The bar was quiet enough with only murmured conversations going on at the tables on the other side of the bar and soft music playing from speakers nearby that Peter would be able to type up the interview later.

“I did!” Dopinder said brightly. “I was taking the trash out when I found the two bodies in the alley behind the bar.”

“Around what time were the bodies discovered?”

“Oh, I don’t know, sometime after midnight. It was definitely closer to being early morning than midnight though.”

“How would you describe the bodies?”

“Oh, it was terrible,” Dopinder said. “The bodies looked like they had been smashed against the ground over and over again. And their chests looked like a giant had picked them up and squeezed too hard. Blood and body parts were everywhere. And-”

“Ok,” Mr. Pool interrupted, “I think that’s enough disgusting details for the kid.”

“No,” Peter said with a shake of his head, “the paper loves knowing what the scene looked like.”

“Ok,” Dopinder said, “their skulls were smashed too and-”

“Dopinder, that’s enough.” Mr. Pool interrupted again. “The kid does not need to hear anything else about what state the bodies were in when you found them.”

“This kid,” Peter said, “can handle it.”

“Trust me,” Mr. Pool said as he took a hold of Peter’s chin to turn his head fully away from Dopinder, “you can’t handle this and you don’t need to be hearing about it anyway.”

Peter glared at the white eyes of the man’s suit, but because Peter was not going to tell the strange man that he was used to death because he’s seen it often enough as Spider-Man, Peter just yanked his chin out of the man’s grasp and read the next question. “Have the bodies been identified?”

Mr. Pool started rubbing his back almost to say thank you for dropping it, while Dopinder said, “nope, they haven’t been identified yet.”

“Yes, they have,” Deadpool said.

Dopinder’s eyes lit up, “Really?”

“Yeah, I’ve been doing some digging.”

“You’re doing some digging?” Peter asked Mr. Pool.

“Yep.” At Peter’s confused look, Mr. Pool continued, “Oh, umm, I guess I never gave a proper introduction. My name’s Deadpool and I’m kind of an anti-hero. I’ve been trying to track down whoever killed those men, so I’m starting with trying to figure out who they are.”

“Antihero?” Peter asked himself. The suit suddenly made sense, but he must be new otherwise Peter would have heard about him as Spider-Man.

“Ok,” Peter said, moving on, “do you know if the police have any leads?”

“Nope,” Deadpool said, “they have no clue what happened to those men.”

“So, what have you found so far, Deadpool? Do you have any leads?”

“Well,” Deadpool said, “I’m mainly looking into who they might have angered and who might want to kill them or get revenge, but all I’ve found out so far is that they’re just some random guys that owned some warehouses down by the dock.”

“They worked at the docks!” Dopinder exclaimed as Peter rolled his eyes. Everything bad always happened at the docks, and these guys probably got caught in some sort of feud.

“It’s always the docks, isn’t it?” Peter said.

“Yes,” Deadpool smiled in his mask, “it’s always the docks!”

“Why is it always the docks?” Peter laughed.

“I have no idea!”

Peter shared a gentle smile with Deadpool before either of them noticed Weasel stomping down the stairs. “Deadpool! You better get that stupid reporter out of my bar or I won’t give you any jobs next month!”

“But, Weasel, he’s too cute to be kicked out,” Deadpool whined. Peter thought it might have been weird to hear a grown man whine, but somehow Deadpool made it work. Peter figured that Deadpool was probably just this dramatic and exaggerating all the time.

“Don’t care!” Weasel yelled. “Get him the fuck out of my bar!” Weasel started storming towards the front of the bar.

“Baby,” Deadpool said as he got off his stool and turned back towards Peter, “I think we got to go.”

“Yeah,” Peter said as he shoved the questions and his phone into his pockets, “I think so too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I almost had Deadpool say this line, but then realized Peter can’t find out that Deadpool is a murderer, yet: “Nope, that’s enough Dopinder. No more talking about the corpses and how gruesome they were. And this is coming from me, a man who loudly and proudly brags about the state he leaves his corpses.”
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this lovely conversation about dead men.


	5. The One In Which Peter Is So Tired He Make A Fool Of Himself

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... this didn't go where I thought it would go.
> 
> Also, Peter really is too tired to function and Wade is too sweet for this world.

“Do you need me to hail a taxi or did you drive here?” Deadpool asked after they were a block or so away from the bar.

“Oh, I just walked here, and I’ll just walk home,” Peter replied.

“Darling,” Deadpool said, stopping Peter with a hand on his elbow, “in case you haven’t noticed, this isn’t the nicest part of town. I don’t feel like it’s safe for you to be walking around here. You might end up trapped in an alley with some pervert, rapist, murderer, or worse.”

“I’ll be fine,” Peter said, and he knew he would be fine. He had his spidey sense to warn him if someone was eyeing him weirdly and his super strength in case someone thought they could try something with him.

“Yeah,” Deadpool said, “but baby, leaving you out here all alone on this shady-ass street won’t sit right on my conscience.”

“Is this your way of trying to get to my apartment?” Peter said with a smile at the man next to him, mainly to get him to drop the subject because there was no way he could afford a taxi ride to his apartment.

“What?” Deadpool gasped, “no! That’s not what I meant! I just want to hail a cab or call an uber for you or something.”

Peter laughed, “I was joking, Deadpool. You don’t seem like the type that would take someone home without first going on a date.”

“You really think that highly of me, baby? You just meet me.”

“And you’ve been nothing but sweet and considerate, so, yeah, I do think that highly of you.”

“You wouldn’t think so if you knew what was going through my head. They ain’t innocent thoughts, baby.”  
  
“You wouldn’t think I was so innocent either,” Peter said, “if you knew what hearing you call me “baby” does to me.”

And that’s when Peter realized that he, in his overworked, sleep-deprived state, had just openly flirted with a man he just met, a man that was an antihero and had guns and swords strapped to his body.

Quickly, a blush spread across his whole face. “I, uh, I-” Peter stammered, “I didn’t mean to say that out loud. I’m just so tired and it’s really late and I did not mean to say that out loud. I- I haven’t been called “baby” before and I didn’t realize I would be affected so much.” Peter’s blush now spread all the way up to his ears as he groaned, “I didn’t mean to say that either. Deadpool,” he practically whined this last part, “I can’t seem to stop talking so I need you to do something or say something here, please.”

“Baby,” Deadpool practically growled as he put his hand over Peter's mouth and pushed him against the wall, “Be quiet. I’m going to need you to give me a minute. I think I just short-circuited.”

Peter laughed as relief spread through him. When Deadpool removed his hand, Peter whispered, “ok, I’ll try to be quiet.”

“Thanks, darling, just give me a moment to calm everything down,” Deadpool said.

Peter nodded.

So they stayed leaning against the brick wall of some apartments- well, Peter was leaning against it and Deadpool was practically leaning against him, his arms on either side of Peter’s head- as Peter got his breathing back under control and his blush faded.

“Baby,” Deadpool said after a few moments passed.

Peter groaned, then his blush returned. “Stop,” he whined as he buried his head into Deadpool’s chest.

“Ok,” Deadpool said, as he lowered his hand to grab Peter’s side gently, “no more nicknames, got it.”

“Thanks,” Peter said softly into the leather suit.

“No problem.”

Eventually, Peter lifted his head to stammer out an explanation, “I’m just so tired or I wouldn’t be acting like this, sorry.”

“It’s ok,” Deadpool whispered back, “let me just get you an uber, ok?”

“Yeah.”

“Then you can get some zzzs so that you will have the brainpower in the morning to just forget this whole night happened and to tell your boss no the next time he asks you to go to some shady bar to do an interview about dead people late at night.”

Peter huffs a laugh before he pulls away from Deadpool, “thanks.”

“No problem, bab-”

And Peter outright whacked his hand over the part of the mask where Deadpool’s mouth is before he could finish talking.

After a moment in which Peter was horrified by what he did, Deadpool pulled away from him and burst out laughing.

Peter laughed too. “This night has just been so weird,” he said.

“Agreed,” Deadpool laughed.

Eventually, Deadpool led them over to some nearby steps and pulled out a phone from one of the many pockets on his suit.

“Thanks,” Peter said, after Deadpool had put in Peter’s address on the Uber app and had to pay for the ride in the app. “Here,” Peter said as he pulled out a twenty from his wallet.

“Nope,” Deadpool said, “I’m not taking your money. You already had to deal with Weasel being his usual asshole self, you already had to do an interview about dead people, and you already had to deal with me shoving you up a wall, so I’m not taking your money.”

“But-”

“Nope,” Deadpool said as he literally turned away from Peter, putting his back to him.

Peter knew he had to repay this man’s kindness towards him, so he grabbed his pen and wrote his number on the twenty-dollar bill. “What if it has my number on it?”

“What?” Deadpool squeaked as he turned back around.

“You have been so kind, and Aunt May raised me to be a gentleman so, here,” he thrust the money towards him, “take it.”

“You’re giving me your number?” Deadpool asked, uncertainly.

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to pay you so I wrote my number on the money so that you’ll take it and if you don’t take it, I might genuinely cry.”

“Don’t cry,” Deadpool said softly, as he took the money from Peter. “I don’t know what I’d do if you started crying.”

“Ok,” Peter smiled, “I won’t cry.”

Then the uber car pulled up and Deadpool pulled Peter to his feet. “Get some sleep, darling.”

“I will,” Peter said as he closed the door of the car, “and thank you for the interview and for not judging me in my sleepy state.”

Deadpool’s soft laughter ringed in Peter’s head the whole ride back to his apartment with Ned and MJ.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Deadpool has Peter's number, but will he ever use it???


	6. The One In Which Deadpool Meets A Cute Boy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I missed writing. Everything has kind of been awful lately so I found myself awake super early in the morning writing this fanfic.
> 
> Anyway, here's Deadpool's POV. (I love writing in Deadpool's POV by the way.)
> 
> Also, since everyone seems to do this differently, Yellow is ((example)) and White is [[example]].
> 
> *****
> 
> !WARNING FOR CUSS WORDS AND THINKING ABOUT SEX!

Deadpool skipped down the sidewalk as the sun was just starting to set, swinging his arms and humming happily with Yellow, one of the boxes in his head. “I put a spell on you because you're mine,” he sang.

((Then you better stop the things you do.))

“You know I can’t stand it. I can’t stand it because you put me down.”

((You know I love you. I love you anyhow.))

[[Wait, is this song supposed to have some meaning?]]

((Don’t interrupt!))

[[Listen to the lyrics. Does this song have some second meaning? Is the writer being intentional here?]]

((No, she just has writer’s block and doesn’t know how to start this chapter.))

[[Well then, I’m sorry I interrupted.]]

((You better be sorry. Deadpool tell him he can’t talk again until we finish the song.))

[[How many more lines anyway?]]

(Just one.)

“And I don’t care,” Deadpool sang as he threw open the doors to the bar and made his way towards Dopinder behind the bar. A few of the regulars turned and nodded at him before going back to their pool game.

“Mr. Pool,” Dopinder greeted with his usual wide smile. “How are you doing today, Mr. Pool?”

“I’m good, Dopinder, how’s everything around here? Has everyone been behaving?” Deadpool asked as he hopped onto one of the bar stools and leaned on the counter. 

“Oh, yes, Mr. Pool. Everything’s been good.” Dopinder said as he started polishing the cups again.

“Good, good. Has anything interesting happen?”

“Yes, Mr. Pool. There’s actually a reporter upstairs hoping to get an interview from Weasel right now.”

“A reporter,” Deadpool gasped.

“Yes,” Dpoinder said, “but I don’t think Weasel is going to give him the interview, which is a shame cause an interview could really help the bar. You know business is slow, right, Mr. Pool?”

“Well then,” Deadpool hummed as he hopped off his barstool, “we’ll just have to fix that, won’t we?”

((Since when can we fix anything?))

“What do you mean?” Deadpool asked as he made his way up the stairs to Weasel’s dirty apartment, “we fixed that whole situation with Cable trying to kill our boy, Russel.”

[[I’m pretty sure that was all Domino’s luck.]]

“Definitely wasn’t,” Deadpool said as he entered Weasel’s apartment. He’d been so distracted by Yellow and White that he didn’t realize he would run into someone until there was a boy sprawled out on the floor where he had fallen.

The boy has flawless pale skin and a head of curly brown hair that stuck up in every direction. He wore a soft red jacket that looked slightly big on his thin frame, old jeans, and dirty converses. When he looked up at Deadpool, Deadpool felt himself twitch down you know where, because the cutest angel was looking up at him with his fluttering eyelashes and a blush that spread from his ears to all the way down to his jacket.

((Is this our meet-cute moment? Cause I would love to take this cutie home later and see what how far down that blush goes.))

Deadpool took a moment to reel himself back together before smiling down at the boy, “I came here to talk to Weasel’s ugly face, but if I had known a cutie like you would end up on the ground spread before me like a feast, I would have worn my nice suit.”

[[We don’t have any nice suits.]]

“Right,” Deadpool said, “I would have at least worn a clean suit.”

[[I don’t think any of them even clean right now except this one, which is starting to smell.]]

The blush darkened as the boy scrambled to his knees. He’s going to be the death of us, Deadpool thought, as he took a step forward and tipped the boy’s chin up with his fingers. The boy’s lovely dark brown eyes darted up to meet Deadpool’s. “What’s a cute thing like you here for anyway?”  
  
As the cutie struggled to answer, Yellow supplied a mental picture of every way they could fuck the kid in this position, everything they could do to the angel on his knees before them.

Weasel’s oily voice broke Deadpool out of the trance he seemed to have fallen into, “He’s not here to do anything, Pool. He’s just leaving.”

((No!))  
  
As Yellow’s complaining echoed through his head, Deadpool looked up at Weasel. It almost physically hurt to tear his eyes off the boy. “But he’s so cute with that blush,” Deadpool whined as he met Weasel’s glare.

“Pool?” the boy asked from below him. Immediately, Deadpool looked back down at the boy. Yellow seemed to be having a stroke at the way the boy had said his name so shyly, with a slight tremble in the middle. Shit, Deadpool groaned mentally, he’s too fucking cute. “Yes, darling?” Deadpool managed to say as he pushed the boy’s chin up a little bit more. In response, the boy’s back arched a bit and his blush darkened even more.  
  
“The Mr. Pool Dopinder said had been talking about the dead bodies?” the boy asked, again with a shyness that was absolutely perfect.  
  
Deadpool realized he needed to get the boy to his feet and probably take a few steps back before the kid gave him a cuteness induced heart attack or something, so he gently helped the boy to his feet as he said, “Probably.”

Deadpool tried to back away from the literal angel in front of him but found his feet stuck to Weasel’s ugly carpet. He tried to cover his awkward shuffling and pause with the first thing that came to his head, “I really need to stop telling Dopinder every gruesome detail of my awful but awesome life.”  
  
The boy’s own mental freak out seemed to fade enough for him to say, “I came to interview Weasel about the dead bodies found in the alley behind this bar for a newspaper.”  
  
“Oh, you’re too cute to be a reporter,” Deadpool blurted out because the boy was way, and he meant way, too cute to be a reporter. He could not imagine this cutie being forced to sit behind a desk and just write stories for the newspaper. If the boy’s boss had any brain cells, he’d have the boy in front of the camera all day long. “You should be the weather guy, then I might actually turn the news on and listen to the weather.” Wait, is that why they report the weather? Just to put a handsome man on tv to get views. “Why do they even report the weather anyway? It’s always a little too hot and a little too humid. Plus, I wouldn’t actually be listening to you discuss the cold front or something, I’d be imagining what else you could do with those plush lips of yours.”

Which was what Yellow was doing right now.  
  
Weasel finally seemed to snap, “He’s not a weatherman, Deadpool. He’s a reporter and he needs to get out of my fucking bar!”

The boy sighed, almost like he knew he wouldn’t have got the interview anyway, but as he made to step around Deadpool, who was trying to figure out what he could say to get the boy to stay and have a drink with him, the boy seemed to have an idea. He turned towards Deadpool, he was only about a step away and looked up at Deadpool. His eyelashes fluttered and a blush returned to his cheeks. 

“Mr. Pool, could you walk with me out of here?” The boy asked, and Deadpool’s mental breakdown over the boy’s supreme cuteness and Yellow’s breakdown over the boy’s complete fuckability as he put it came to a climax as the boy stammered out some reason for him asking Deadpool to walk him out of there.

[[Why would he want someone like us to walk him out of here?]]

((Don’t care! Just walk with him, walk him home, maybe get invited in, then one thing will lead to another and-))

“Let’s get you out of this awful place,” Deadpool said. His voice was low and rough.

At that, the boy smiled softly and looked up at Deadpool. Flustered and wondering when the last time anyone had smiled at him, Deadpool quickly turned and led him down the stairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, any ideas you have, leave them in the comments and I'll try to incorporate them. No promises though.


	7. The One In Which Deadpool’s Hand Is Stuck

At the bottom of the stairs, Deadpool noticed a few of the guys looking back at them. Most focused on the boy, who’s shoulders curled forward and head ducked down when he seemed to notice their attention. Deadpool realized the boy was uncomfortable when the boy started fidgeting with the zipper on his jacket, so Deadpool put his hand gently on the boy’s back and led him over to the bar.

((Oh my god! We’re touching him! We’re touching the cute boy!))

As Deadpool sat at the bar, he took his hand off the boy’s back.

“Dopinder,” Deadpool said as he sat at the bar and ignored Yellow’s anger over no longer touching the boy and pleading to put his hand back on the boy. “I hear you’ve been telling people that I’ve been investigating the bodies you found behind the bar.”

“Yeah,” Dopinder said as he slid a beer over to Deadpool. “But that’s only because a paper wants to write a story about the murders.”

As Deadpool took a sip of his beer, which would not affect him at all, he glanced over his shoulder to find the boy still yanking on his zipper and fidgeting. “Come here, baby boy. It looks like you need to take a breather,” Deadpool said as he patted the barstool next to him.

After a moment of hesitation, which Deadpool had to give the kid because he was in the bar of a bunch of professional killers and was being asked if he wanted to sit with an armed man dressed in a red and black suit, the boy gave a small nod, glanced around, then finally sat on the barstool next to Deadpool.

“Dopinder,” Deadpool said as he watched the kid squirm in his seat and glance around the bar some more, “get the kid a soda.”

“Of course, Mr. Pool,” Dopinder said before he went to the other end of the bar to pull out a rootbeer from the mini-fridge under the bar.

“Kid,” Deadpool said as he put his hand back onto the boy’s back to try to comfort him down a bit.

((Yay!!))

((But… why would he want to be comforted by us? Stop touching him, he probably doesn’t want to have your bloody hands touching him.))

Deadpool considered pulling his hand off, because, of course, the kid doesn’t want to be touched by a stranger, but he didn’t because the boy turned back towards Deadpool with a slight blush rising on his cheeks. “Do you want to interview me then go home? Or just head home? You can just go home. I don’t want to pressure you into staying at this disgusting bar,” he said gently.

The boy looked Deadpool up and down before nodding. He saw the obvious guns and the handles of his katanas, but he still decided to stay and pulled a small notebook out of his pocket. “Thanks,” the boy said gently as he flipped through the pages until he landed on one that had a list of questions on it.

((Is he really going to stay?? Even though we’re touching him?))

[[He’s just staying to get the interview, Yellow.]]

((Yeah. Why else would he let us touch him? He could just shove us away. But… he’s letting us touch him. We haven’t touched anyone in ages. It’s kind of nice. Missed this.))

[[We’re literally only touching his back, calm down.]]

((Fine.))

When Dopinder set a rootbeer on the bar, Deadpool immediately slid it towards the boy. Looking up, the boy saw the drink and thanked him again.

The boy took a long drink and it seemed to calm him down enough for him to read the first question from the notebook, “question one: who discovered the two bodies in the alley behind the bar yesterday?”

“I did!” Dopinder said cheerfully, almost frightening the kid with his loud answer. “I was taking the trash out when I found the two bodies in the alley behind the bar.”

“And what time were the bodies discovered?” the boy continued, and Deadpool fell silent to let Dopinder answer the questions since he was so overly enthusiastic about it.

“Oh, I don’t know, sometime after midnight. It was definitely closer to being early morning than midnight though.”

“How would you describe the bodies?”

“Oh, it was terrible,” Dopinder said. “The bodies looked like they had been smashed against the ground over and over again. And their chests looked like a giant had picked them up and squeezed too hard. Blood and body parts were everywhere. And-”

((Whoa, Deadpool, stop him! He’ll scare the kid away!))

“Ok,” Deadpool interrupted Dopinder, realizing he shouldn’t have let Dopinder take the lead anyway, “I think that’s enough disgusting details for the kid.”

“No,” the boy said with a shake of his head, still looking at Dopinder, “the paper loves knowing what the scene looked like.”

“Ok,” Dopinder said, jumping right back into the gruesome details, “their skulls were smashed too and-”

“Dopinder, that’s enough,” Deadpool cut in. “The kid does not need to hear anything else about what state the bodies were in when you found them.”

“This  _ kid _ ,” he said, “can handle it.”

“Trust me,” Deadpool said as he took a hold of the boy’s chin to turn his head fully away from Dopinder, “you can’t handle this and you don’t need to be hearing about it anyway.”

((We’re touching the face of an angel!))

[[Well, that angel hates us, look at how he’s glaring at our ugly face.]]

And the boy was glaring at him. But when Deadpool didn’t back down after a moment, the boy just yanked his chin out of Deadpool’s gentle hold and read the next question from the notebook. “Have the bodies been identified?”

Deadpool smiled softly at the boy before realizing the boy probably couldn’t see it through Deadpool’s thick mask, so he started to gently rub the boy’s back as a way to thank him for dropping the issue.

When Dopinder said the bodies hadn’t been identified, Deadpool jumped back into the conversation to say that they had. It was actually why he was skipping and singing so happily on his way over here. He had managed to identify the bodies as two men who own some of the warehouses by the docks. He hadn’t found anything about them that could tell him the reason why they were so brutally murdered, but he would keep digging.

This was all part of his plan to become a real hero, instead of staying stuck as an anti-hero. He was going to track down the murderer and bring them to justice just like his idol, Spider-Man, would.

“Really?” Dopinder asked. His eyes lit up with excitement.

“Yeah, I’ve been doing some digging,” Deadpool replied.

“You’re doing some digging?” the boy asked, his voice soft as if he was scared to ask the question.

“Yeah,” Deadpool replied before realizing the boy did not know who he was when the boy looked at him confused. Introductions were in order then. “Oh, umm, I guess I never gave a proper introduction. My name’s Deadpool and I’m kind of an anti-hero. I’ve been trying to track down whoever killed those men, so I’m starting with trying to figure out who they are.”

The boy’s eyes widened when Deadpool said ‘antihero,’ then he looked down at the suit as if he’d forgotten it was there and realized that it suddenly made sense why a man would dress in a red and black leather suit with swords and guys.

“Oh,” the boy said, moving on, “do yall know if the police have any leads?”

“Nope,” Deadpool answered, “they have no clue what happened to those men.”

((We’re still rubbing his back! I’m in heaven.))

[[You know we’re going to have to let go eventually, right?]]

((Never!))

“So, what have you found so far, Deadpool?” the kid asked, interrupting Yellow declaring that he would never let Deadpool let go of the kid, “Do you have any leads?”

“Well,” Deadpool said, trying to be nonchalant, but ending up more excited to be talking about how he’s trying to find the brutal murderer the longer he describes how he’s looking for who might want to kill the two men Dopinder found behind the bar. It was a good thing the two guys weren’t members of the bar, but if someone that Weasel hires kills that brutally, then they need to be taken care of. Even Deadpool had to draw the line at mashing someone to death. “I’m mainly looking into who they might have angered and who might want to kill them or get revenge, but all I’ve found out so far is that they’re really just some random guys that owned some warehouses down by the dock.”

“They worked at the docks!” Dopinder exclaimed excitedly, as the boy just rolled his eyes.

“It’s always the docks, isn’t it?” The boy said with a sigh.

Deadpool smiled at the boy, “Yes, it’s always the docks! Even the movies seem to know that it always has something to do with the docks”

“Why is it always the docks though?” the boy laughed. And it was such a beautiful laugh. Deadpool hoped that he could keep just saying stupid stuff about the docks just so he could keep the angel laughing, but that dream came to an abrupt halt when he heard Weasel stomping down the stairs behind them.

“Deadpool!” He heard, “You better get that fucking reporter out of my bar or I won’t give you any jobs next month!”

((No! Don’t let mean, old Weasel kick out the cutie!))

“But, Weasel, he’s too cute to be kicked out,” Deadpool whined as he turned towards Weasel at the bottom of the stairs. Somehow, his hand was still on the boy’s back. It seemed to be magically stuck there, and the kid never once tried to yank it off or move away from him. Shocked by this realization, he nearly jumped when Weasel yelled again.

“I don’t care! Just get him the fuck out of my bar!”

When Weasel started stomping his way towards the front of the bar, Deadpool hopped off his stool, careful not to knock his hand off the boy’s back.

((How are we still calling just him “boy” and “kid.” Shouldn’t we have learned his name by now?))

[[No, the author never figured out how to work that into the conversation.]]

((So we’re never going to learn his name?))

[[Maybe in a few chapters?]]

((Why? That’s just so mean.))

“Baby,” Deadpool said softly as he helped the boy off his stool with two hands on the boy’s hips, “I think we got to go.”

“Yeah,” the cutie said as he shoved the questions and his phone into his pockets, “I think so too.”

So Deadpool gently pried his hands off the boy’s hips -- it seemed to hurt to let go of the angel, but he had to. Damn, Deadpool knew he was touch starved (because of his disfigurement he had avoided letting anyone touch or even see him without his mask in a while), but this was almost ridiculous. Yeah, there had been a few moments when he had his mask off when dealing with Cable and Russel, but that had been a while ago.

Since the boy did not disagree when Deadpool said they both had to go -- ((He probably just needs us to finish the interview.)) -- they walked out of the bar together. On their way out, the boy pulled his hood up, shoved his hands into his pockets, and curled forward as if to hide from the attention he was drawing from the people they passed, people not used to seeing someone so innocent looking in their midst. Gently, Deadpool put his hand back on the boy’s back -- ((Yay!)) -- and led the boy out of the bar with that hand.

The boy murmured thanks so softly under his breath as Deadpool held the door open for him, and Deadpool felt more like a hero at that moment than any time in the last few weeks that he had been trying to become a real hero by helping people out of muggings and only hurting instead of killing the bad guys.


	8. The One Where Deadpool Gets A Cute Boy’s Number

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will be last chapter before we jump back to Peter's point of view where he talks with Ned and MJ as they try to make pancakes. Ned ends up convincing him to go find Deadpool as Spiderman so that they can work together to find the murderer. Then the chapter after that will be Deadpool trying to call the boy who gave him his number.
> 
> In case that didn't make it clear, I kind of have an outline for this fanfic, but if you have any ideas, tell me! I'd love to add more scenes and see what these two will do later on.
> 
> Also, this is not beta read so if there have been any mistakes so far, please tell me as well.

The sun had set a while ago, so they walked through a city covered in moving shadows from the dull lampposts and cars that were driving a street over. The pavement below their feet was uneven, so Deadpool used that as an excuse to keep his hand on the boy’s lower back, so he could guide the boy around the cracks in the pavement that he had memorized years ago, but knew that the boy hadn’t.

[[That’s the worst excuse I’ve ever heard.]]

((Shut up! We’re still touching him!!))

[[Don’t get excited, this isn’t going anywhere and you know it. The second he sees our face, he’ll be gone so quick it’ll be like he was never there to begin with.]]

With the insecurities that White had drug out of their hiding spaces in his head, Deadpool sighed and turned towards the angel beside him. “Do you need me to hail a taxi or did you drive here?”

“Oh,” the boy said, as he looked away from the flash of headlights flickering through the alley across the street to look up at Deadpool, “I just walked here, and I’ll just walk home.”

“Darling,” Deadpool said, stopping the boy with a hand on his elbow, “in case you haven’t noticed, this isn’t the nicest part of town. I don’t feel like it’s safe for you to be walking around here. You might end up trapped in an alley with some pervert, rapist, murderer, or worse.”

[[Like you.]]

“I’ll be fine,” the boy said confidently. He didn’t even seem to realize that this was probably one of the worst areas to be in at night in the city. A lot of his fellow murderers for hire and other people in the same general profession took up residence in this area so that they’d be near Sister Margaret’s in case they got a job. Also, there were many bars in the area, which always attracted the wrong sort of crowd this late at night.

It didn’t seem like he’d get anywhere with just trying to get the kid to take a taxi home by arguing that it wasn’t safe, so he took a different tactic.

“Yeah,” Deadpool said softly, “but baby, leaving you out here all alone on this shady-ass street won’t sit right on my conscience.”

A smile spread across the boy’s face as he looked at the white’s of Deadpool’s mask, “Is this your way of trying to get to my apartment?”

“What?” Deadpool gasped.

((Yes! Say yes!))

“No!” Deadpool said instead. “That’s not what I meant! I just want to hail a cab or call an uber for you or something.”

But Yellow had latched onto the idea and was going through everything they could do to the boy at his apartment.

The boy laughed and when he did his entire face lit up under the pale light of the lamppost they were under, “I was joking, Deadpool.” Then he added, “You don’t really seem like the type that would take someone home without first going on a date.”

((We’re 100% that type! Now, go home with him.))

[[We don’t deserve to go home with him.]]

Deadpool thoughts went somber, “You can’t really think that highly of me, baby? You just meet me.”  _ Plus, my hands are so bloody and my past so dark that just by touching you I could be ruining your life. _

“And you’ve been nothing but sweet and considerate,” the cutie countered. “So, yeah, I do think that highly of you.”

[[That’s impossible.]]

“You wouldn’t think so if you knew what was going through my head. They ain’t innocent thoughts, baby,” Deadpool said, thinking about all the things Yellow had listed that they would do to the kid if they could.

“You wouldn’t think I was so innocent either,” the kid said, “if you knew what hearing you call me “baby” does to me.”

At that, the boxes went silent in shock and Deadpool stared at the kid.

((Can we replay what he said, please?))

[[He said we wouldn’t think he was so innocent if we knew what calling him “baby” does to him.]]

((Oh my god.))

_ Yeah _ , Deadpool thought,  _ oh my god _ . He’d been stuck on how cute and precious the boy was that he didn’t know how to act when the boy said something like that. He knew he was entranced by the kid, but he did not think it was even possible for the kid to be even affected by what he’d been calling him since they met about an hour ago.

A blush was quickly returning to the boy’s cheeks. “I, uh, I-” the boy stammered, “I didn’t mean to say that out loud. I’m just so tired and it’s really late and I did not mean to say that out loud. I- I haven’t been called “baby” before and I didn’t realize I would be affected so much. I didn’t mean to say that either. Deadpool, I can’t seem to stop talking so I need you to do something or say something here, please.”

((He’s so fucking cute and so just fucking- fuck.))

[[You heard him, he’s just tired. He only said that because he’s too tired to function.]]

((Don’t care. Deadpool, call him baby again.))

[[No, it would be like taking advantage of someone who is drunk. We can’t do anything until he’s had a good night of sleep and can think clearly again. But we should do something by now. Deadpool, we’ve been standing here for a minute. Time to do something.]]

((Yeah, do something! Say something! Say “baby” again!))

Deadpool didn’t know what he was going to do or what he was going to say, but then a moment later, he said, “Baby,” almost just because it was all he could think. He moved quickly and put his gloved hand over the boy’s mouth to keep him from saying or doing anything that could get Yellow going again. He leaned forward and trapped the boy’s head between his arms, encasing the boy who was now leaning against the old brick wall of the building they had been walking passed. Propped up by his elbows, Deadpool found his mouth beside the boy’s ear. Only the hood of the boy’s jacket and his mask was between the boy’s ear and Deadpool’s mouth as Deadpool whispered, “Be quiet. I’m going to need you to give me a minute. I think I just short-circuited.”

After a moment, the boy laughed softly as Deadpool shook his head as his thoughts had really short-circuited. Then Deadpool removed his hand from the boy’s mouth because the thoughts that brought to mind were not helpful in this situation.

Quietly, the boy whispered, “ok, I’ll try to be quiet now.”

“Thanks, darling, just give me a moment to calm everything down,” Deadpool said.

((There’s no calming me down ever again!))

[[Shut up, Yellow.]]

((Never, this literal angel… we need to fuck this angel now.))

[[No, we can’t take advantage of him.]]

((But we’re already pressed against him. Our lips are only centimeters apart. It would be so easy.))

_ No _ , Deadpool thought,  _ we are not taking advantage of him. We’re going to stay right here until we all three agree that we’re just going to call the boy an uber _ .

((Then can we go home and jerk off to what would have happened if we had kissed him.))

After the need for the boy faded, Deadpool found himself indeed pressed against the boy’s body. “Baby,” Deadpool said softly, and he didn’t even mean to, he just did not know how to break the sweet moment any other way.

The boy practically growled at him. “Stop,” he whined as he buried his head into Deadpool’s chest.

“Ok,” Deadpool said, as he lowered his hand to grab the boy’s side gently, “no more nicknames, got it.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem.”

Eventually, the boy lifted his head, “I’m just so tired or I wouldn’t be acting like this, sorry.”

“It’s ok,” Deadpool whispered back, “let me just get you an uber, ok?”

“Yeah.”

“Then you can get some zzzs so that you will have the brainpower in the morning to just forget this whole night happened and to tell your boss no the next time he asks you to go to some shady bar to do an interview about dead people late at night.”

The boy huffs a laugh before he pulls away from Deadpool, “thanks.”

“No problem, bab-”

Surprisingly quickly, the boy’s hand shot up and covered the part of the mask where Deadpool’s mouth is before he could finish saying “baby”.

Just as quickly the boy’s expression changed to one of absolute mortification over what he had done, but Deadpool just found himself stepping away from the boy to double over as he laughed.

After a moment, the boy laughed too as he stayed leaning against the wall as if it was the only thing keeping him from just falling over. “This night has just been so weird,” he said.

“Agreed,” Deadpool laughed.

[[Now, call an Uber and let’s get him home.]]

“Yeah,” Deadpool said too softly for the boy to hear. He gestured to a nearby set of steps and plopped down on the top one. He pulled out his phone, opened the uber app, then held it out to the boy.

“Thanks,” the boy said as he put his address into the app. Deadpool paid for the ride without a second thought, he needed to pay the kid back for dealing with him all night. Plus, his past has left him with more money than he could ever spend. 

As they waited in a peaceful sort of quiet, watching a few cars drive past and some cat walking down the alley across the street from them, the boy got out his wallet, pulled out a twenty, then held it out towards Deadpool.

“Here,” the boy said.

Deadpool looked down at the kid’s beat-up shoes, his old hoodie, and nearly empty wallet except for what looked like some coupons shoved into one of the card spots, a MetroCard, a student id for Empire State University, and some other cards. The wallet even had a small tear in one of its corners. “Nope,” Deadpool said. He wasn’t taking this poor college student’s money. “I’m not taking your money. You already had to deal with Weasel being his usual asshole self, you already had to do an interview about dead people, and you already had to deal with me shoving you up a wall, so I’m not taking your money.”

“But-”

“Nope,” Deadpool said as he literally turned away from the boy on the step below him. He looked up at the doorway they were blocking and with his luck wouldn’t have been surprised if someone was about to whack him in the face when they opened it.

“What if it has my number on it?” The boy said shyly from behind Deadpool.

“What?” Deadpool squeaked in surprise as he turned back around.

“You have been so kind, and Aunt May raised me to be a gentleman so, here,” he thrust the money towards him, “take it.”

“You’re giving me your number?” Deadpool asked, uncertainly. He stared down at the ten numbers written on the back of the twenty in shock.

[[There’s no way that’s his real number.]]

“Yeah,” the boy said as he waved the money at Deadpool.

“Why?”

((Yeah, why would anyone ever give us their number? No one has given us their number since before Weapon X.))

[[He doesn’t know what we look like under this mask, that’s why.]]

“Because I want to pay you so I wrote my number on the money so that you’ll take it and if you don’t take it, I might genuinely cry.”

“Don’t cry,” Deadpool said softly, as he took the money from the boy. “I don’t know what I’d do if you started crying.”

“Ok,” the boy smiled down at the money clenched in Deadpool’s hand, “I won’t cry.”

Then the uber car pulled up and Deadpool carefully smoothed the money out before folding it up and putting it in one of the pockets of his suit. He pulled the boy to his feet and walked him to the car like a gentleman. He made sure to check the app and make sure this was the right car before holding the door open for the kid. “Get some sleep, darling,” he said as the kid got in the car.

For the part of town they were in, the car didn’t look too sketchy. The driver barely looked back at the boy as he got in, he just adjusted the radio and made sure his GPS was showing the route.

“I will,” the boy said as he closed the door of the car, “and thank you for the interview and for not judging me in my sleepy state.”

Deadpool found himself laughing and the boy smiled up at him from the window of the car. Then it drove away, but Deadpool’s smile didn’t leave his face until he fell asleep that night in his apartment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just a reminder to comment any ideas you have and if there are any grammatical mistakes I've made so far.


	9. The One With Pancakes And An Info Dump

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... it's been awhile. I've graduated and my life is still a mess, but I'm trying to write consistently so here's to hoping I update more often.
> 
> Also, this chapter is pretty much just a info dump. In short:  
\- Deadpool’s story pretty much follows the movies (since the Deadpool movies are awesome!).  
\- Peter became Spider-Man after Uncle Ben was shot. He was bitten by a radioactive spider during a field trip.  
\- This Peter pretty much follows the Tom Holland Spider-Man movies a bit, but Endgame never happened! Instead, Peter went to college, where he now lives with MJ and Ned.  
\- Tony figured out Peter was Spider-Man about a year after Peter started web-slinging.  
\- He still interns for Tony, but he mainly just makes stuff for his suit or helps Tony with whatever he's building at that moment.  
\- He works at the Daily Bugle, interns for Stark, patrols as Spider-Man, and goes to college. He's a busy boy.  
\- He's not an Avenger, but he'll help them out if Tony asks or if they are in New York.  
\- MJ works at a diner and takes art classes, while Ned works at a comic book store and goes to college.

Peter rarely dreamed and when he did it was usually about being crushed by a building or Uncle Ben being shot. When he had those dreams he would wake in a pile on the ground tangled in the blankets. Those days were always the worst. He even had one really bad day when he literally could not enter any building even though he knew they would not collapse on him. He spent the whole day in his suit slinging around the city. Ned was the first to notice he did not attend his classes since they both have a bunch of the same classes due to their similar majors, but it was MJ who figured out why he did not meet them for sandwiches. They grabbed his sandwich to go and ate with him on a park bench even though it was pouring out. Ned even stayed by his side until he managed to enter their apartment building. (MJ had her art class so she left, but she told him it was probably for the best because she would have ended up saying something snarky that would have hurt his feelings anyway.) It still took him three times and one almost panic attack to finally make it to their apartment and into bed. In short, that had been a terrible day. Thankfully, Peter had not had that dream in a while and had not had that fear resurface.

But he still had bad dreams about guns going off, criminals laughing, and innocent people dying because he had not acted fast enough or been clever enough to save them. Those days usually left him with his spidey-sense buzzing in the back of his head all day even though the dream had long since finished or his senses feeling frayed at the edges since everything would just be too loud all day long.

But the dream Peter was currently having was kind of nice. A knight in a suit of red and black armor rode up on a stunning black horse. When he leaped from his horse, Peter stared at his muscles as they stretched. The knight caught Peter as he fell from exhaustion and carried him home.

Honestly, it was a nice dream. Yes, it was weird given that Peter barely knew the man, but it felt nice to be taken care of even if it was only in a dream.

Then Peter woke up and recalled what actually happened that night. He had been a mess and had openly flirted with a man he only knew was an antihero. He never even saw his face.

Peter often looked back on his mistakes and flush with embarrassment even though they had long passed and nearly everyone had probably forgotten about that time when he did something terribly, said something so stupid, or was a complete awkward mess. That’s what he felt at that moment. Deadpool had probably thought he was a complete awkward mess and thrown away the number of the college kid that acted like a tired disaster.

Peter tried to convince himself that Deadpool had probably already forgotten about the tired mess that was Peter last night as he got up and got ready for the day. Peter just considered himself lucky that being a tired mess had not led to him making a mistake as Spider-Man yet.

His alarm ended up going off when he was pulling on his shoes. He usually awoke before the alarm anyway.

Peter finds Ned humming in their small kitchen. Their apartment was absolutely tiny. It had three small bedrooms, one for each of them; one bathroom they all shared, which had been a struggle at first, but now they shared almost effortlessly; a living room which only had a sofa that had been in the apartment when they bought it, an overflowing bookcase of science textbooks and magazines, comic books, and science fiction novels MJ loved, and a Captain America beanbag in the corner Ned had got at work; and a small kitchen in the center of it all with an island with three bar stools. Ned was making what looked like pancakes and wore a frilly apron that said: “AN APRON IS JUST A CAPE WORN BACKWARDS” he got from his job as well. Ned worked at a cramped comic book store and often came home with superhero or video game themed stuff that his manager deemed unsellable or Ned just got on a really good deal since he got the employee discount there. They had the previously mentioned Captain America bean bag that looked like his red, white, and blue shield, a Batarang key holder on the wall by the door, and Mario themed mixing bowls. He even gets great sales on the t-shirts, so the two of them have tons of nerdy shirts. But they drew the line when Ned came home with a Spider-Man toilet seat cover.

“Good morning,” Ned said when he turned around and noticed Peter coming in from the hallway. Ned turned off the science lecture he was probably listening to for class and shoved his headphones in the pocket of the apron.

“Morning, Ned,” Peter said, grabbing three glasses and the orange juice from the fridge. “Pancakes today?”

“Yeah, I’m going to make three batches so we can keep them in the freezer,” Ned said, pouring the batter for the first pancakes.

“You better make some blueberry for MJ.”

“I will after I make my chocolate ones.”

Peter set the table for the three of them while Ned made the pancakes. He would have helped make them but apparently being a terrible cook can be passed down from aunt to nephew. His aunt could burn noodles, so Peter got used to eating cheap, to-go food growing up. He tried to learn how to cook when he was in high school, but nothing he made ever tasted good. Sometimes, it did not even taste edible. MJ and Ned tried to teach him when they first moved in together, but if he so much as helped cut the vegetables, the meal would somehow end up just terrible. Luckily, he never burned their kitchen down, but there had been one close call with some tacos. Now, he just made the table, cleaned up the apartment, studied for his classes, or worked on his web-shooters while they cooked. Peter always washed up the dishes afterward as thanks.

“Oh, how was the interview last night at that weirdly named bar?” Ned asked as he flipped the first batch of pancakes and Peter started washing the bowls and measuring cups Ned used.

“I think the interview turned out fine. I’ll type it up later and give it to Jameson tomorrow. It turns out the interview was because two guys had been brutally murdered behind the bar.”

“Are you going to get involved as Spider-Man or is this a police thing?” Ned asked over his shoulder.

“Yeah, I think I’ll look into it. There was this antihero there named Deadpool that had a lead at the docks, so I’ll look into that.”

“We should have gotten an apartment near the docks given how often you have to swing down there.”

Peter laughed. “He didn’t tell me what his lead was so I’ll have to ask around and probably pull a few all-nighters down at the docks to figure out what he found out.”

“Why don’t you just ask this antihero? I’m sure he’d love to help Spider-Man solve the mystery.”

“Uh,” Peter said, “I kind of made a fool of myself last night. I was just so tired and an absolute mess and I think I may have flirted with him and he was super chill about it, but I freaked out. Then he paid for the Uber for me, but to pay him back I needed to make up some excuse so he would take my money, so I wrote my number on it. And he’s probably thrown it away, but he’ll recognize me as the tired college kid who was so awkward.” Peter ended his rant with a groan. He had been such a disaster last night. The later it got, the worse Peter’s tired self had become.

“Yeah, but that was Peter. This antihero saw awkward, tired Peter last night, not Spider-Man. You just need to find him tonight as Spider-Man and mention you are looking into the murders too. You could have yourselves an old fashioned team-up!” Ned said excitedly as he put the first batch of pancakes on their plates and started the next batch.

That’s when MJ walked out of her room with a yawn. Her messy hair was everywhere as it was every morning, but Peter and Ned learned long ago not to mess with MJ in the morning, but she still saw Ned look away quickly from her and Peter’s smile at how adorable she looked in the morning with her shorts and curly hair. She just looked so different, soft almost, in the morning compared to her usual defensive, sarcastic self. “Oh, shut up you two. I need my orange juice.” Just because she looked nice in the morning, didn’t change that on the inside she was still her defensive, sarcastic self.

So MJ started drinking her orange juice as she sketched Ned in his frilly apron (“I’m working on drawing fabrics with their folds, wrinkles, and shadows,” she explained.), Ned finished making the pancakes, and Peter washed the dishes and put the cool pancakes in bags in the freezer.

They ate their pancakes together though. It was rare that they saw each other in the mornings. Ned usually has a morning shift at the comic book store before his classes, MJ has early morning classes during the week so she could work the lunch shift at the diner she worked at, and Peter usually tries to cram for his classes because he can’t study at night since he patrols. But no matter what they had during the day, they always ate sandwiches together at their usual place a few nights a week usually between six and eight, depending on when MJ’s shift ends, if Ned had a rare evening shift, or if Peter was running late from his internship with Mr. Stark.

“So,” Ned said as he finished his pancakes and Peter got up to wash their dishes, “are you going to team up with this Deadpole?”

“Deadpool,” Peter corrected, “and maybe. If he has a lead and it’s something the police can’t handle, then, yeah, I’ll get involved.”

At MJ’s questioning look over her orange juice, Peter explained how embarrassing he had been last night.

In the end, she laughed. “And this is just another reason you really need to get some sleep, Peter.”

“I know, I know. I need to sleep. Thanks, MJ, but you’re getting repetitive.”

“Then sleep and I’ll stop moming you,” she said as she handed Peter her dishes then headed down the hallway to get ready for her shift.

“You should ask Mr. Stark what he knows about this Deadpool guy when you head to your internship,” Ned said as he passed Peter his dishes as well.

“That’s a good idea. I’ll ask him what he thinks, then I’ll patrol all evening and, hopefully, I’ll find Deadpool tonight and see if he’s open to teaming up.”

“When are you going down there today, anyway?” Ned asked.

“I’ll head down in a few hours,” Peter said, drying his hands. “Do you want to finish that lego set in the meantime?”

“Yeah,” Ned said, smiling as he ran off to get the set from his room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have any ideas, comment them and I'll try to work them into the story.
> 
> Also, my beta reader is Grammarly, so if there are any mistakes, comment them too.


	10. The One At Avengers Tower

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote Tony telling/demanding Peter to not work with Deadpool, but I'm going to push that back to after Peter and Deadpool become close so that when Tony tells Peter that Deadpool was a mercenary there will be more drama, which I absolutely live for.
> 
> Anyway, here is Peter, Friday, and the Avengers. I hope to have more scene with them in the future, especially with Mr. Stark and Natasha confronting Peter about working with Deadpool. (Natasha is going to be more open about it since she too has a bad past.)

After a few hours and a lunch made of some leftovers they found in the fridge, Peter and Ned worked on completing the lego set.

Peter smiled at the little spaceships Ned and him built as Ned finished putting on the last few touches. Peter was sprawled out on the floor by the couch, while Ned squinted at the ship as he tried to figure out where a sticker went.

He always enjoyed spending the day with Ned doing normal stuff, such as studying for tests in the hard classes they both had, reading comic books in bed until they both fell asleep, or building lego sets on the floor for hours on end. Peter had so much going on in his life ― his classes, his job at the Bugle, his internship with Stark, and his patrols at night as Spider-Man ― that spending the time to do normal stuff was rare, but afterward he always felt centered. Sometimes he wished he had more time to relax, but he had too many responsibilities to waste time sitting around and doing nothing useful.

“Done!” Ned exclaimed as he held the spaceship up proudly.

“They look really good, Ned,” Peter said, smiling at the three spaceships on the coffee table.

“Do you have to go to your internship now?” Ned asked, noticing Peter checking his phone.

“Yeah,” Peter said, hopping up, “see you later, Ned.”

Peter grabbed his backpack from his room, then started his walk to the subway to get to Avenger Tower.

Mr. Stark had figured out who was the web-slinger behind the Spider-Man mask when he was a junior in high school. He had been Spider-Man for a year then, but he had been eager to accept the “internship”/mentorship Mr. Stark offered. They had called it an internship to hide Peter’s identity from Aunt May, but Peter still headed down to Mr. Stark’s labs in Avengers Tower every few days to help Mr. Stark on whatever he happened to be working on that day or to make more web-fluid and patch up his suit.

Peter made it to Avengers Tower soon enough. He entered through the private door to the top floors in the garage. It would take him straight up to Mr. Stark’s labs and allow him to avoid the crowded first floor.

“Good afternoon, Peter,” Friday greeted as the doors to the elevator slid shut. Friday was Mr. Stark’s current AI. She controlled most of the comings and goings of the tower. Mostly, she kept Mr. Stark alive when he wore his Iron Man suit, but sometimes she had to force Mr. Stark to leave the labs when he becomes too focused on work to remember to eat or sleep.

“Hello, Friday,” Peter said, smiling up at the camera in the top corner of the elevator, “how are you today?” He knew Friday technically was not looking at him through the camera, but he still looked at it when he talked to her. Aunt May raised him to look people in the eye when he talked to them, and that counted for AIs too.

“I’m good, Master Peter, where do you need me to take you today?”

“To Mr. Stark, please.”

“No problem, Master Peter,” Friday said as the elevator started its ascent. “The boss is working in the labs right now. He has his music turned up too loud like usual, so brace yourself.”

“Thanks, Friday.”

As the elevator ascended, Peter got a good view of Manhattan. In a few hours, he would make his way through those buildings to Queens, where he would swing around protecting Queens as best he could. He would also be looking for Deadpool. Sister Margaret’s School For Wayward Girls was in the East Bronx, so Peter planned to head straight there instead of patrolling Queens to look for Deadpool. Queens could survive one night without him.

“Friday? What can you tell me of the antihero known as Deadpool?”

“Why do you ask, Peter?”

“I think I’m going to be teaming up with him like how I do sometimes with the Avengers when they’re in New York or like that one time with Daredevil down in Hell’s Kitchen. I’d like to know what I’m getting myself into though. I think he’s a new hero since I’ve never heard of him.”

“Deadpool is not a hero,” Friday said as the elevator came to a stop. “He’s not some new hero to New York. Deadpool is dangerous, Peter. I suggest you talk to Mr. Stark about this team-up.”

“Oh- ok, Friday,” Peter said uneasily. Deadpool had not seemed dangerous last night. He had been kind and calming, and he even let Peter interview him.

When the doors opened, the screaming of heavy rock music indeed assaulted Peter's sensitive ears. The lab was in its usual messy state. Peter weaved his way around half-finished projects, stacks of papers Mr. Stark needed to sign for Pepper, random machines and equipment, and pieces of old Iron Man suits as he searched for Mr. Stark in the chaos. To an outsider, the lab would look like an unorganized disaster. In reality, Mr. Stark knew the location of everything in the lab, from paperclips to complex equipment. Mr. Stark could find anything he needed as long as Peter did not move it when he was there and as long as Happy, Mr. Stark’s personal assistant/chauffeur, did not try to clean the place up. Over the years, Peter had adjusted to working in the mess. Now, he could make his way through the chaos and find anything he needed to without much difficulty.

In the end, Peter found Mr. Stark working on an Iron Man suit in one of the corners of the large room. Dum-E, one of Mr. Stark’s arm robots that helped him in the lab, was holding what looked like a cup of cold coffee off to the side. Mr. Stark had given Peter his own corner of the lab after a while. He made the fluid for his web-shooters there and kept some backup suits in case his current one got torn there too.

“Hey, Mr. Stark,” Peter yelled over the music, sliding his bag onto the floor. “what are you working on today?”

“Peter-” Mr. Stark startled and barely avoided burning himself with a welding blowtorch- “get over here and hold this up for me. I’m trying to fix this old suit.”

Peter grabbed the leg of the suit and easily held it up for him.

Soon enough, he lost himself in the work of helping Mr. Stark. He loved working in the labs. When he was helping Mr. Stark, Peter lost himself in the work. He enjoyed helping Mr. Stark repair his damaged suits or helping him make advances to the world of science and technology. Some days, when Mr. Stark was away on missions or doing a press conference, Peter had the lab to himself. He absolutely loved it! For one, he did not have to listen to deafening music. For another, he could repair his suit, improve his web-fluid formula, or just start a new project of whatever was on his mind at the moment.

The sun was setting, by the time Friday interrupted their work.

“Boss,” Friday said, turning the blaring music off, “the Quinjet is landing and everyone seems to have made it back from the mission unharmed.”

“That’s good,” Mr. Stark said, rubbing sweat from his brow. He surveyed the suit that was still in pieces laying on the table in front of them, before turning towards Peter. “Kid, you staying for movie night tonight?”

“Maybe later, Mr. Stark,” Peter said, trying to find where he put his bag down, “I got to go patrol.”

“What have I told you about calling me that?” Mr. Stark shook his head, before grabbing his cold coffee from Dum-E. He seemed to realize at the last moment that the coffee would be cold and disgusting because he stopped with the cup halfway up to his lips before lowering it with a disgusted face.

Peter made a noise of triumph when he found his bag buried under the leg they removed from the suit. They had to remove it to fix some of the wiring inside the chest area of the suit. Mr. Stark would be putting the suit back together tomorrow when they finished fixing the wiring.

“Sorry, Mr. Stark, it’s a habit now.”

“Will you be back tomorrow to fix the rest of the wiring, kid?” Mr. Stark asked as they got in the elevator to

“Not tomorrow, but maybe in a few days.”

“Ok, kid. I guess I’ll see you in a few days,” Mr. Stark said, getting off the elevator. They rode it up a couple of floors, where the Avengers common room was.

“Wait,” Clint called from where he lounged on the couch in front of a giant television, “you’re not staying for movie night? We have popcorn!”

“Sorry, maybe next time, Clint.” Peter had stayed for a few dinners and movie nights when the whole team was in New York, but he was not an Avenger. Sometimes, he did help them out though on missions or when robots were attacking New York. Mr. Stark had offered to make him an Avenger when he graduated from high school, but Peter preferred to stay the friendly neighborhood spiderman.

“How have you been, паук пацан?” Natasha said, coming out from the hallway drying her bright red hair. Her cheeks were rosy from a shower. Most of the time he had seen her, she was wearing her suit, so seeing her in soft leggings and a hoodie had taken some getting used to.

“I’m good, Nat. Though, I could use a full night of sleep.”

“Couldn’t we all!” Clint laughed, handing the popcorn to Natasha.

Peter laughed as the elevator’s doors slid closed.

“To the roof, please, Friday,” Peter said. He dropped his bag and dug his suit out. He put it on as the elevator rose those last few floors to the roof.

“You forgot to tell Mr. Stark about your team up with Deadpool,” Friday said, as Peter did an awkward little hop to get the bottom part of his suit on.

“Oh, he completely slipped my mind.”

“I’ll remind you when you come back in a few days,” she said.

“Thanks,” Peter said, zipping up his suit.

The doors slid open. He smiled as a cool breeze brushed through his hair. It was a perfect, clear night for a nice patrol. Then he would try to find Deadpool in the East Bronx.

He slipped on his mask then broke into a sprint. He loved swinging, but the best feeling in the world was falling feeling the wind rush past.

Casually, he aimed and shot a web. Soon he was swinging through the buildings, looking for trouble and the red and black suit of the kind man he met the night before. Hopefully, Deadpool would be willing to team up with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love all of the ideas you guys have commented! <3
> 
> To solid_mare I am totally incorporating a scene with Deadpool blinding Peter with a tie he pulls out of a messy draw full of weapons and other junk. (It's already half written.)
> 
> But for now, tell me what you guys want to see when Peter finds Deadpool on the roof tonight and tries to team up with him. It'll be from Deadpool's POV and I have already started writing it and am super excited to upload it this weekend.


End file.
